Facing Fears
by Christine M. Greenleaf
Summary: As Halloween rolls around in Gotham City, the Scarecrow is up to his usual tricks of spreading terror among its unsuspecting citizens. This year, however, he's forced to confront his own deep-rooted fears when his teenage son Irving drops an unexpected bombshell.
1. Chapter 1

**Facing Fears**

He should have suspected something was wrong when the Batmobile broke down.

To be more precise, the Batmobile lost a wheel, which was the second clue something was wrong. But finding himself stranded in the rain just outside of Gotham City with Batgirl, both of them soaking wet and inexplicably without the ability to call Alfred or anyone, seemed somehow perfectly plausible at that particular moment.

"Bruce, there's a light up ahead," said Batgirl, nodding through the blinding rain.

They both walked toward the light, and his heart lurched when he saw the sign through a flash of lightning. "Barb…that's Arkham Asylum," he gasped.

"So? We just need to use their phone to call Alfred – with all the bad guys we bring in there, they owe us," retorted Batgirl. "Come on."

She strode toward the front door of the asylum, and knocked sharply. The door creaked slowly open, revealing nothing but darkness inside. "Barb, wait…" he began, but she had already disappeared into the asylum. He followed cautiously, having a very bad feeling about this.

"Hello? Anybody in here?" called Batgirl. "Dr. Leland?"

"Sorry, Bratgirl," said a familiar voice. "The Doc's out. All of 'em."

"As you will be shortly," said another familiar voice. "Out of your minds, that is."

A blinding light shot on, and when he regained his sight, he saw Harley Quinn dressed in her usual costume, but with added sequins, tails, and a top hat, and the Scarecrow, dressed in his usual costume, but with no mask, and longer, stringier hair. They both smiled at them in a creepier than usual way.

"Where are the doctors?" Batgirl demanded. "What have you done with them?"

"Nothing yet," replied Harley, grinning. "But we're just about to have ourselves a little party. And Mr. J will be so pleased you're joining us – he's all dressed up especially for you, Batbrain," she said, nodding at him.

They were both seized and dragged into the cell block. He struggled, but somehow both Scarecrow and Harley seemed to have almost superhuman strength, which was another sign something was wrong.

There did indeed appear to be a party in the cell block – all of Batman's enemies were there, dressed in strange variations of their usual flamboyant costumes. Music played from somewhere, the tune sounding vaguely familiar, as Batman's enemies chatted, laughed, and danced. He looked around for Joker, but couldn't see him anywhere.

"All right, folks, we'll play it again!" came a voice from somewhere, and the same tune repeated itself over and over again. It was like some hellish purgatory that he found himself stuck in, along with all his enemies.

"Yoo hoo! Batsy!" called a familiar voice, and he turned with dread to see the Joker striding toward him, dressed in a purple cape which he held in front of his body. "I'm so glad you could join us – I got a new outfit just for you!" he chuckled.

Joker suddenly threw the cape back over his shoulders to reveal that he was dressed in a purple corset, fishnets, and very high purple heels. "Like what you see?" giggled Joker. "I know you do! I'm not much of a man by the light of day, but by night I'm one hell of a lover - I'm just a sweet transvestite! Now come on, Batsy – give yourself over to absolute pleasure," he whispered, leaning forward with puckered lips.

And that was when Bruce Wayne woke up, screaming. "Bruce, oh my God, what is it?" exclaimed Barbara Gordon, sitting bolt upright next to him.

Bruce stared at her, breathing heavily as he looked around his bedroom. "A…nightmare," he gasped. "God, I am never forgiving you for taking me to see 'The Rocky Horror Show.' It just gave me too many disturbing images. A flamboyant, depraved bad guy with big red lips and a penchant for flirting with everyone is just a little too close to home for me."

"Well, I'm sorry, killjoy, but it's a Halloween tradition," retorted Barbara, yawning and lying back down. "Although it was a little annoying how many people asked me if I was meant to be Dr. Scott in the wheelchair and all. But it didn't hurt you to have a little fun."

"Easy for you to say – you didn't see my nightmare," retorted Bruce. He stood up, heading into the bathroom to wash the sweat from his face.

"It can't have been that bad," said Barbara. "Anyway, you need to come back to bed – you need your sleep so you're rested for lunch with my dad tomorrow."

"Barbara, I just had a vision of the Joker in a corset," retorted Bruce. "I'm not going back to sleep anytime soon."

"Yeah, strangely that doesn't seem that far-fetched," said Barbara, grinning. "But frankly, if I were you, I'd be more scared of seeing my dad tomorrow when you tell him we're dating."

"I don't know why he'd have a problem with it," retorted Bruce.

"You don't?" she asked. "Well, for starters, you knew me when I was a kid. And even if he doesn't know about the Batman/Batgirl thing, I think he'll be a little concerned about our age difference. He's kinda overprotective, you know."

"I know," said Bruce. "But our age difference is really no worse than Joker and Harley's."

"And you're using them as the yardstick for a healthy relationship?" asked Barbara, raising an eyebrow.

"No," retorted Bruce. "I'm just saying stranger things have happened."

"Well, you know the kinda guy the tabloids portray Bruce Wayne as," continued Barbara. "I think Dad will be afraid you're not committed to me, just like you're not committed to any of the women you date."

"He won't believe that I've decided it's time to settle down?" asked Bruce. "Put the playboy lifestyle behind me because I've realized there comes a time when a guy wants more?"

" _Is_ that what you've realized?" asked Barbara, smiling.

Bruce sat down on the bed. "I've just…seen my enemies move on with their lives. I mean, they still commit crimes and things, but Joker and Harley have their kids, Scarecrow has his, Mad Hatter's adopted his goddaughter…"

He trailed off. "So?" asked Barbara.

"So…they've all committed themselves to people while still maintaining their identities, for the most part," said Bruce. He shrugged. "Why can't I do the same?"

"Is this you telling me we're getting serious?" asked Barbara, surprised.

"Hey, if I'm having to tell your dad about us, I'd say that was the first sign," said Bruce, kissing her.

Barbara grinned. "It takes you being scared outta your mind by seeing the Joker in a corset to make you take things between us seriously. You know, I think he'd appreciate that joke if you told him."

"I'm not mentioning it to Joker," retorted Bruce.

"I know. It was a joke, silly," said Barbara, shaking her head. "He's right about you having no sense of humor, you know."

"I'm surprised you can joke about him after what he did to you," retorted Bruce.

"If I let him take my sense of humor as well as my ability to walk, then I let him win," said Barbara, shrugging.

"You know the idea of him being a father is actually more disturbing than him in a corset," growled Bruce. "Those kids must have the most twisted, messed up minds."

"What, more twisted than the children you train to be Robin?" asked Barbara.

"That's completely different!" snapped Bruce.

"Not that different," she said. "You're both brainwashing children into your way of looking at the world. Joker's kids just happen to be his own flesh and blood. Anyway, they're too old now for you to do anything about it. And remember when Dick reached his teenage phase, he rebelled against you? Maybe the same thing will happen with Joker's kids now that they're teenagers."

"I doubt it," growled Bruce. "For some reason, people seem to find the Joker's way of looking at the world very alluring."

"Maybe you'll join them, now that you've seen him in fishnets," said Barbara, grinning.

Bruce didn't grin back. "It's not funny," he snapped. "And it's not something to joke about."

"Sure, Bruce," yawned Barbara, rolling over. "Nothing ever is for you. Now go back to sleep."

Bruce climbed back into bed, lying awake and staring into the darkness. His nightmare had been worse than anything he had experienced on Scarecrow's fear toxin. Speaking of which, with Halloween just around the corner, a fear toxin attack was sure to be imminent. If Bruce dared admit it to himself, he sort of enjoyed the dependability of many of his enemies. They caused trouble regular as clockwork, and Bruce did enjoy a certain routine, especially when the holidays rolled around. It kept him from having to confront his own personal issues.

He idly wondered if his enemies had their own submerged fears that they lay awake at night thinking about. He couldn't imagine the Joker had any, but he supposed it was possible. Probably not about him in a corset though.

"Remind me to ask Zatanna about memory wipes," he muttered, rolling over to embrace Barbara.

"Sure, remind you to go talk to your ex-girlfriend," retorted Barbara. "Not gonna happen. But nice try on the commitment front, Mr. Playboy Billionaire. You lasted all of ten minutes."'

"Baby steps, Barb," retorted Bruce. "Baby steps."


	2. Chapter 2

"Jonathan, the guests will be here any minute and you're not in costume," said Emilia Crane, opening the door to her husband's study.

"I'm just in the middle of some last minute planning, my dear," replied Jonathan Crane, not looking up from his desk.

"You've had all year to plan your Halloween scheme," said Emilia.

"By that logic, you've had all year to plan the Halloween party," retorted Crane.

"I _have_ planned the Halloween party," snapped Emilia. "And if you ruin my plans, I shall be very upset with you. I will not be made out to be a bad hostess in front of our friends. Now put your costume on and come out to the living room at once, or there'll be no Halloween candy for you this year, if you get my drift."

"I'll be out in a moment, my dear, I promise," he said.

Emilia sighed, leaving him. "Serves me right for marrying a criminal lunatic," she muttered.

"Love you!" he called after her.

"Katrina, dearest, can you please stop reading and put your costume on?" asked Emilia, opening the door to her eldest daughter's room.

"I don't want to wear a costume," said Katrina, not looking up from her book. "They're silly."

"Do you think your father is silly for wearing a costume every night when he goes out to fight Batman?" asked Emilia.

"No," retorted Katrina. "It is necessary for him to consistently represent the Scarecrow persona to the people of Gotham for his consistent effect of fear to be felt. It's a psychological effect called reinforcement, to instill a Pavlovian response when the Scarecrow is seen for fear to be felt. I, however, am desirous of no such persona, nor psychological effect, therefore wearing a costume for me is silly."

Emilia just looked at her. "Just put it on," she sighed, shutting the door to her room. "Annabel, dearest, are you dressed?" she asked, knocking on her middle daughter's door.

"Yes, and I must say, I think I make a rather splendid witch," said Annabel, opening the door to her room and beaming. "Did you know the first person to be executed for witchcraft in America was a woman called Alse Young of Windsor, Connecticut in 1647?"

"No, I didn't, my dear," said Emilia. "How very interesting."

"Yes, she was hanged, as were most presumed witches in America, contrary to the popular burning imagery, which was more commonly practiced in European cases of witchcraft," continued Annabel. "The last person executed for witchcraft in Europe was a woman called Janet Horne, in Scotland in 1727, who was, in fact, burned…"

"That's very interesting, my love – have you seen your brother?" asked Emilia.

"He's moving furniture," said Annabel, nodding toward the living room.

Emilia entered the room to see her youngest son, Irving, moving chairs around and bringing plates in from the kitchen. "Irving, dearest, you're such a help," she said, smiling at him.

"Is there anything else I can do, Mom?" he asked.

"Maybe talk your elder sister into putting on a costume?" said Emilia, dryly.

"The day any of us can talk Katrina into doing anything will be a cold day in a commonly believed to be warm afterlife," replied Irving.

"Yes, I don't know where she gets her stubbornness from," sighed Emilia. "I'm blaming her father."

"Yeah, nobody ever called you stubborn, did they, Mom?" asked Irving, grinning.

"Not if they know what's good for them," replied Emilia, kissing his cheek. She smiled at her son as he resumed moving furniture around, which at this point seemed more like busywork than help. "Irving?" she asked. "Are you all right?"

"Of course," he said, rearranging some glasses. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"You just seem very fidgety and nervous, and that's not like you," she said. "Something on your mind?"

"Uh…maybe…I'll tell you after the party," he said hastily. "No need to ruin the festive atmosphere on Dad's favorite holiday."

"Is it that bad?" asked Emilia.

"It's not bad, it's just…something I'll tell you after the party," he said. "Something…I've realized…about myself."

"Oh. Sounds serious," said Emilia.

"Well…it is to me," agreed Irving. "Although…I know Dad isn't going to like it. Not one bit."

"Irving, your father loves you unconditionally," said Emilia. "Whatever it is, I'm sure he'll take it in his stride."

"Take what in his stride?" asked Crane, entering the room in his Scarecrow costume.

"Uh…the…uh…company we're having at the party," invented Irving. "Mom invited…some other people."

"Your mother can invite whomever she wants to the party," said Crane. "I trust her implicitly. But personally I thought a small, intimate gathering of our family plus Jervis and Alice would be ideal."

"Yeah, there's…four more people now," said Irving, slowly.

"Irving, that was meant to be a surprise," snapped Emilia.

Crane looked at her. "You didn't," he muttered.

"I like them, Jonathan," snapped Emilia. "I know you and he have had your differences in the past, but that's all water under the bridge now…"

There was a knock on the door. "Anyway, their costumes are always very good," added Emilia, opening the door. "And I see they haven't disappointed this year," she commented.

"Yeah, watch this, we've got this whole routine!" exclaimed the Joker, who was dressed in a purple Darth Vader costume. "J.J., I am your father!"

"No! No, that's not true! That's impossible!" cried J.J., who was dressed in a Luke Skywalker costume.

"Search your feelings, you know it to be true," replied Joker.

"NOOOOOOOOOOO!" screamed J.J.

"That's a great 'NOOOOOOO!', J.J.," said Joker, proudly. "You sound just like I did when I was Luke Sky...well, never mind," he added hastily.

"Thanks, Dad – I've been practicing," said J.J., smiling at him.

"We thought the Star Wars theme would be pretty perfect, since the kiddos are twins and all," said Joker, gesturing at his daughter Arleen who had her hair done up in side buns over her ears, and was wearing Princess Leia's original costume. "They're just like 'em, except for that weird part in the second movie where they kiss…"

"And my sister's not dating a scruffy-looking nerfherder," agreed J.J. "Yet," he added.

"Harley, I'm afraid I'm unfamiliar with who you're supposed to be," said Emilia, as Harley Quinn entered the room dressed in khaki coveralls with a huge backpack-shaped machine on her back.

"I'm a Ghostbuster," said Harley. "Or more precisely, a Batbuster," she said, nodding at the Batman symbol crossed out on her costume. "When there's something strange in the neighborhood, who you gonna call?"

"Um…"

"Batbusters!" she finished. "I ain't afraid of no Bat!"

"Why didn't you dress as something from Star Wars like the rest of your family?" asked Emilia.

"I don't like Star Wars," retorted Harley. "I like Ghostbusters, though, and that's also a movie from the 80s, just like the 'I am your father' Star Wars movie. And Ghostbusters involves good guys, bad guys, and supernatural stuff, so it's broadly the same thing."

"Sure, Harl," said Joker, rolling his eyes. "That's the kinda logic you'd expect from the kinda loser who doesn't like Star Wars," he muttered under his breath.

"Besides, I said I'd be happy to go as Luke and Leia's mother, to complete the theme, but Mr. J said we never found out what she looked like," continued Harley. "I thought it was Natalie Portman in the prequels, but Mr. J insists he don't know what I'm talking about."

"Nope," said Joker, firmly. "Never heard of any Star Wars prequels. That's not a thing whose existence I acknowledge."

"O…K," said Emilia, slowly. "Well, see if you can guess our theme," she said, gesturing for her family to gather together as Katrina and Annabel entered the room. "Katrina refused to wear her costume, but I think you can figure it out even with one missing."

The Joker family stared at them. "Uh…something from a book?" guessed Joker at last.

"It was a book and a movie," said Emilia. "Starring Judy Garland."

"Though there were several deviations between the book and film," spoke up Annabel. "The famous ruby slippers were silver in the book, for instance, but it was decided that red would look better on color film…"

"Oh, Wizard of Oz!" said Harley, nodding. "Because of the Scarecrow and all…"

"Yes, Annabel is the Wicked Witch of the West," said Emilia, nodding at her middle daughter. "Katrina was meant to be the Tin Man, I'm Dorothy, and Irving is the Cowardly Lion," she said, nodding at her son.

"Aw, that's cute," said Harley. "And you all match. Wouldn't that be nice, puddin'?" she asked, pointedly.

"Maybe if someone just sucked it up and put her family over her dislike of Star Wars, we'd match too," retorted Joker.

"Maybe if Star Wars had more than one female character in the whole damn trilogy, I would have," retorted Harley.

"Hey, the new one's got a dame!" snapped Joker. "And you could have always been Slave Leia or something!"

"I think I'm a little old to be parading around in something that skimpy," said Harley. "And I didn't much care for dressing skimpy in public even when I was young enough to get away with it."

"Well, that's not what that new movie says, Miss Hot Pants," snapped Joker.

"Hey, I thought we agreed we weren't gonna acknowledge the existence of that either!" snapped Harley. "Unless you want me to mention your new 'damaged' look…"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" interrupted Joker, loudly. "This is not a thing I've ever seen or even heard about, because this is not a thing that exists, so just drop it, all right?!"

"Great costume, Irving," said Arleen, smiling at him. "You can help us re-enact some scenes as Chewbacca - you got the right look for it."

"Th…thank…thank you, A…Arleen," he stammered.

"Irving, for the last time, it's Leenie," said Arleen.

"L…Leenie," he stammered. "You…you also look…um…very…um…in character," he finished, lamely.

"Yeah, the side buns are fun for a day, but I wouldn't make a habit outta it," she laughed.

"You look…wonderful in absolutely anything," he stammered, and instantly started blushing bright red.

"Aw, aren't you sweet to say that!" said Arleen, smiling as she went to go help herself to some punch.

"Outta the way, nerfherder," said J.J., shoving Irving aside as he joined her.

"Is anyone else coming?" asked Harley.

"Yes, Jervis and Alice," said Emilia.

"Yeah, their costumes won't beat ours," said Joker, holding up his lightsaber. "Hey, J.J., let's do the bit where I cut off your hand!"

"Johnny, how's your Halloween scheme coming along?" asked Harley. "I know it's an annual tradition."

"I just put the finishing touches on it before you arrived," said Crane. "Should be quite a show. I'd recommend not being outside between the hours of 8 PM and 3 AM on Halloween night, though."

"Jonathan figures most of the children trick or treating will be in bed," explained Emilia. "And the only people out on the streets then will deserve to be fear gassed."

"Yeah, you gotta be careful of the kiddies," agreed Harley. "Unless they're one of Batsy's, of course. Then they're fair game."

"How is Batman, Joker?" asked Crane, as Joker and J.J. crossed lightsabers. "Have you seen him recently?"

"Yeah, the other night," said Joker, nodding. "To tell you the truth, he seemed a little off with me."

"Off?" repeated Crane. "What do you mean?"

"He just acted a little weird," said Joker, shrugging. "Kept looking at me funny. We've known each other a lotta years now, and I can feel when something about our relationship ain't right. But if he won't talk to me, I can't help him. Communication is the key to any successful relationship, you know."

"Yes, I know," said Emilia, glancing at her son and wondering what he hadn't been communicating. It wasn't like him to keep things from his parents – he had always been very open and honest with both of them. And she couldn't imagine what he could possibly want to hide from his father in particular.

The doorbell rang and Jervis Tetch and his adopted goddaughter Alice appeared at that moment, dressed in predictably Wonderland themed costumes, so Emilia thought no more about it, busying herself temporarily with her hosting duties. She had confidence that Irving would tell her in his own time.


	3. Chapter 3

"Katrina, no books at the dinner table, please," said Emilia.

"But I'm almost finished with the chapter," said Katrina, not looking up from her book.

"And you're welcome to finish it after dinner," retorted Emilia. "Believe me, I understand how addictive reading can be, but at dinner time, we converse as a family. That's always been the rule, and the rule won't change until you leave this house and head off to college. Then you can do what you want at your own dinner table."

"I won't have a dinner table," retorted Katrina. "Furniture takes up space that could be used for books. My books will be my dinner table."

"Well, at mine, there will be no books," repeated Emilia. "So just put it away, please."

"But Dad's working on his plan at the dinner table," said Katrina, pointing underneath the table where Crane was furtively scribbling some notes. He glared at his daughter as his wife snatched the plans away.

"Thank you, Katrina," muttered Crane.

"No problem, Dad," said Katrina, smiling at him.

"I'm glad we raised all our children to be honest, Jonathan," said Emilia. "As well as realizing that the rules apply to everyone in the house, even adults. Anyway, I thought you finished the plan before the party."

"It still needs some work," he replied. "There's just something I'm not satisfied with about it, though I can't put my finger on it. I'm sure it'll come to me if I just keep playing around with it, but with Halloween less than a week away, I'm getting a little nervous."

"Well, you can play around with it after dinner," said Emilia, firmly. "Dinner is when we sit down together as a family and discuss the events of the day. Annabel, how was school?" she asked her middle daughter.

"It was fine," said Annabel, shrugging. "I had to correct my history teacher a few times, which made him angry, although goodness knows why. You'd think he'd be grateful I prevented him from spreading misinformation to vulnerable young minds."

"Dearest, we've asked you not to do that," said Emilia, gently. "It can come across as you trying to be a bit of a know-it-all."

"That's certainly not my intention," replied Annabel, honestly. "I just think it's important that the things people are taught by teachers are correct. Dad never minded us correcting him when he home-schooled us. He was always rather proud."

"I wish we could go back to being home-schooled," agreed Katrina.

"Your father and I think it's important that you learn to socialize with other children," said Emilia. "It's a useful life skill to have, and you learn most of those skills in high school."

"But high school students are idiots," said Katrina. "Nobody wants to socialize with them."

"Idiots are the most important type of people to become skilled at socializing with, Katrina," said Crane. "Most people are idiots, you see. Employers, colleagues, people you meet on the street, most will be idiots. And yet you'll still have to deal with them on a daily basis. Best that you get used to it now."

"I suppose so," sighed Katrina.

"But couldn't we try and prevent these people from becoming idiots by helping correct their education now?" asked Annabel.

"I don't think people appreciate that for the most part, my darling," said Crane. "They enjoy their ignorance – it makes them feel safe and secure. To learn is to break out of that bubble, and that's very scary for most people. Fear holds them back, you see. And because of that fear, they sometimes lash out at the more intelligent, to try and drive them back into their little bubbles of ignorance, to bully them into submission. Nobody's tried to bully you, have they?"

"No," said Annabel.

"They wouldn't dare," agreed Katrina. "They know who our father is, and what he does to bullies."

"Good," said Crane, happily. "I hope you never, ever experience anything like that, my angels. Your mother and I know only too well the crippling effect of bullying, and it's something we will not allow our children to experience under any circumstances."

"What about you, Irving?" asked Emilia. "You've been awfully quiet this evening. You aren't being bullied at school, are you?"

"Oh no," said Irving. "No, I'm…really enjoying high school so far, actually. It's nice to be around other kids."

"That's good to hear," said Emilia, smiling at him. "Are you friends with the Joker twins at school? You were hanging around them a lot at the party."

"Uh…sure, we're friends," said Irving, the blush creeping into his face again. "I mean, they're older than me, so…we don't have a lot of classes together. But we see each other at lunch sometimes. There's a field and we all play games together."

"What kind of games?" asked Emilia.

"Dodgeball, frisbee, things like that," said Irving.

"I didn't know you could throw a ball, Irving," said Crane, surprised. "Or a frisbee. Who taught you that?"

"Uh…just things you pick up," said Irving. "Arleen is…very good at dodgeball."

"Only because you never actually try to hit her with the ball," retorted Katrina. "Which is the whole object of the game. I don't know why you play it if you're not going to play it properly."

"Did you know that early balls were made out of pigs bladders?" said Annabel. "This was due to their lightweight, stretchable properties. They were put into rugby balls in the 19th-century by William Gilbert, and footballs before that. That was only one of many historical uses for pigs bladders throughout the 19th-century, others of which included paint tubes…"

"Nobody cares, Annabel," interrupted Katrina.

"Katrina, we do not interrupt your sister when she's talking," snapped Emilia. "Just because you have no interest in what she's saying, that doesn't mean you have the right to cut her off."

"But she never shuts up," said Katrina. "I read just as much as her, but you don't hear me going on about it all the time, do you?"

"Annabel likes to share her knowledge," said Crane. "There's nothing wrong with that. You should be encouraging your sister, not trying to silence her like a bully would."

"It just gets a bit tiresome every second of every day," sighed Katrina. "But I'm sorry, Annabel. I didn't mean to bully you."

"That's fine, don't worry," said Annabel, shrugging. She was used to being cut off by people, and used to not taking it personally. "You're welcome to change the topic of conversation to something you're interested in."

"I'm interested in reading my book, not conversing," said Katrina, glancing at it longingly. "Someone else think of a topic."

"Irving, what would you like to talk about?" asked Emilia.

Irving had been swirling his fork around his plate. He suddenly put it down and stood up. "Actually there is…something I've been meaning to tell you all," he said, taking a deep breath. "Um…I'm not sure how to really say this…or where to begin…"

"At the beginning, Irving," said Crane. "And whatever it is, you shouldn't be nervous about saying it. But if it's about Arleen Joker, there's no need to tell us."

"Um…no," said Irving, blushing again. "But how did you…"

"Believe me, I saw you looking at her at the party, and I know that look," said Crane, nodding. "I used to look at her mother that way. Before I met your mother," he added, hastily, as Emilia glared at him. "I wish you luck with her, but don't feel bad if it doesn't work out. It was only after I stopped pining for her mother that I met the love of my life," he said, kissing Emilia.

"Nice save, Jonathan," said Emilia.

"It's…not about Arleen," said Irving. "It's…about me. Um…you remember how I started staying after school recently for book clubs and study groups?"

"Yes, I must say, there are an awful lot of those," said Crane, nodding. "Far more than there were in my day."

"Well, that's because…the truth is…I'm not going to book clubs and study groups," said Irving. He took another deep breath. "This is so hard to say…um…the truth is…the truth is…I've been going to…to…football practice," he blurted out.

Everyone stared at him. "What on earth were you doing at football practice?" asked Crane, puzzled.

"Um…practicing football," said Irving. "I…I tried out for the varsity team, and they accepted me, even though I'm only a freshman, because they said…I had a huge amount of potential, and they wanted me on the team right away. We're playing our first game on Saturday, and they want me to play quarterback."

"What in God's name is a quarterback?" asked Crane, gazing at his son in shock.

"It's…a position on a football team," said Irving. "Sort of…the starring position. What I'm trying to tell you, Dad, is that I'm…I'm…I'm an athlete."

Crane stared at him in mounting horror. "An athlete?" he repeated. "My son…is a…a…jock?" he choked out.

"Please don't be mad," said Irving. "But…I really love sports, and I'm really good at them. I…I didn't intend to be, but it just sorta…happened."

"Irving…if this is about some girl, I promise you, becoming a jock is not the way to win Arleen Joker…" began Crane.

"It's not about her, honestly," said Irving. "I just enjoy playing sports. I know you must be disappointed – I know how much you hated athletes at school, and how they used to bully you, but…I can't help what I'm good at. I know it's not what you wanted your only son to be, but I hope you can accept this part of me. And I hope…you might consider…coming to the game on Saturday evening."

"Saturday evening?" repeated Crane. "But…that's Halloween. I…I have my scheme…I can't possibly spend it…at a football game watching my son…throw a ball, or kick a ball, or whatever the hell happens at football games!" he exclaimed.

"I can read up on it and tell you, if you like," offered Annabel.

Crane stood up. "If you all will excuse me, I just…need a moment," he said, hurrying from the room.

"There, you see?" sighed Irving. "I knew he'd be disappointed."

"He's not disappointed, Irving – he's just shocked," said Emilia. "It's a little unexpected, you must admit. But we're all very proud of you, you must know that. Sports isn't something that any of us know much about, but if it's important to you, we'll learn all we can."

"Thanks, Mom," said Irving, smiling at her. "I only hope Dad sees it that way."

"Of course he will," said Emilia, firmly, with far more confidence than she felt. "Now eat up, everyone."


	4. Chapter 4

"I just don't know what I've done wrong," said Crane, lying in bed with his wife later that night. "As a father, I mean, for my son to turn out to be a jock."

"You haven't done anything wrong, Jonathan," snapped Emilia, who was reading a book. "Irving is a kind, thoughtful, wonderful young man. You couldn't ask for a better son. Just because he has interests that we don't share, that's no reason to condemn either him or your parenting skills."

"Why? Don't you associate being a jock with being a failure?" demanded Crane.

"I do wish you'd stop using that word," sighed Emilia, turning a page. "It has such negative connotations. What's wrong with athlete?"

"The word, or being one?" asked Crane.

"Both," replied Emilia.

"The word implies some measure of success," retorted Crane. "Like an Olympic athlete, something to be admired. Jock describes what it actually is – a pathetic little clique for idiotic, violent brutes whose idea of fun is tackling each other and inflicting unnecessary pain and suffering on innocent bystanders."

"I think that's a very unfair assessment, Jonathan," said Emilia. "I know you had some terrible experiences with athletes in high school, but times may have changed. Anyway, you can't write off an entire group of people just because of a few bad experiences, especially if your son belongs to it."

"A few bad experiences?" repeated Crane. "Let me detail to you, my dear, exactly what Chase Foster, captain of the football team, forced me to endure in high school on a regular basis. After cornering me in the locker room after gym class, he proceeded to take my regular clothes from the locker and attempted to flush them down the toilet. This was followed by several attempts to flush my head down the same toilet. When that didn't work, he then proceeded to hold my head under the shower-head, in an improvised form of waterboarding. The final humiliation was a wedgie with my gym shorts, after which I was dragged outside to be hoisted up the flagpole with them."

"My poor darling," said Emilia, kissing him gently. "But I'm sure Irving has never done anything like that to anyone."

"That's not the point," snapped Crane.

"Forgive me, my darling, but that's _precisely_ the point," retorted Emilia. "There are horrible people who are athletes, but that doesn't mean all athletes are horrible people."

"You don't understand, my angel," said Crane. "I've been able to avoid jocks since I left school, which has allowed me to mostly repress those memories of my torment from them. But now my own son is making me confront and relive them by forcing me back into that environment and among those types of people. It's why I can't possibly go to his game on Saturday. I would gladly sacrifice my Halloween scheme for my son – he's obviously more important than any plans I might have, but I can't go back to that horror. I just can't face those memories again. And I can't believe my own son would want to make me suffer so."

"Jonathan, believe me, I understand the agony of having to relive painful memories," said Emilia. "But we have to learn to cope with past traumas. It's what adults have to do, and it's sometimes the hardest thing they have to do for their children. But you have to do this for him. You have to face this fear."

"And what if I can't?" demanded Crane. "What if I show up at his game a pathetic, sniveling, quivering mess? I'll only embarrass him by falling to pieces. Plus I don't know anything about football – I don't know how to tell if he's doing a good job or when to cheer for him, and that'll embarrass him further if I get it wrong. I don't even know which one football is. Is it the one with the nets or the hoops?"

"Neither, I don't think," said Emilia. "I think it's the one with the padding and the helmets."

"Oh God, just seeing those will remind me of the time Chase Foster duct taped my arms and legs together, put a helmet on my head and a piece of tape over my mouth, and then pushed me down a hill in a shopping cart," said Crane. "I collided with a brick wall and broke three of my ribs, but in his defense, my skull was mostly undamaged."

"I'm truly sorry for what you've had to endure, my love," said Emilia. "But you're going to have to endure a little more for your son. Who knows, he might help you erase those bad memories by replacing them with pleasant ones of him."

"I admire your optimism, my dear," said Crane. "But I honestly think it best for both me and Irving if I avoid his sporting activities altogether. I'm sure he'll understand. Of course I'll always love and support him in whatever he does, but I think it's best that I do that from a distance."

"He'll be so disappointed, Jonathan," said Emilia. "He already thinks you're disappointed in him."

"I'm not," protested Crane. "I mean, it's true I never hoped he'd turn out like this, and I couldn't imagine that my son would ever be one of them…"

"One of them?" repeated Emilia. "Don't you hear yourself, Jonathan? Don't you know who you sound like?"

"Who?" he asked.

"A bully," replied Emilia. "Someone who can't accept other people for who they are, and who tries to make them conform to their way of thinking. Someone who thinks that people who are different from their norm or expectations are somehow lesser, more defective, freaks, if you will. We've both of us been made to feel like that many times in our lives. I will not allow you to make our son feel that from his own father. You must come to this game on Saturday. And if you love your son, and me, you will."

"Don't try to emotionally blackmail me, my dear," snapped Crane.

"I'll do whatever I have to for our son, Jonathan," retorted Emilia. "And I trust you to do the same."

She closed her book and put out the lamp, rolling over away from him. "Goodnight," she snapped.

Crane lay awake in the darkness, thinking about what she had said. He remembered how it felt to have his own parents disappointed in him, and rejecting him as some freak of nature. The people in his life who were meant to love him unconditionally treating him with coldness and cruelty and constant criticism…it was no wonder he had become the Scarecrow in the first place. He couldn't let his son experience that at his hands.

But he wasn't sure he had a choice. The very thought of attending the game made him almost physically ill – he could already feel panic and anxiety rising in his throat when he imagined seeing a football field again, where Chase Foster had forced him to do push-ups in the mud, and held his face down in it for progressively longer periods of time when he naturally failed to do them…

He remembered the mental anguish more than the physical now, but he remembered it as vividly as if it were yesterday – the thought of attending school making him quiver involuntarily, the bleak hopelessness in the thought that it might never end, that he was to be bullied for the rest of his life, and seeing no way to escape from it, trapped forever in a claustrophobic cycle of pain and suffering. The entire football team taking turns tackling him, making him choke down grass and mud and laughing at him…

He let out an almost involuntarily whimper of pain at the memory, and felt his wife stir beside him. Then she was holding him, wrapping her arms tightly around him. "It's all right, my love," she whispered. "I'm here. Nothing to be afraid of anymore."

He clutched her tightly against him, wishing beyond reason that that was true.


	5. Chapter 5

"Ahoy hoy, Jonathan!" exclaimed Jervis Tetch, opening the door and smiling at his friend. "And the two young Miss Cranes, what a very pleasant surprise!"

"I hope you don't mind us dropping in like this, Jervis," said Crane.

"Not at all – I'm honored to see you at all on the run up to Halloween," said Tetch, ushering them inside. "You're normally exceptionally busy. Is your scheme all finished?"

"Um…yes," said Crane. "At least, it's no longer preoccupying me at this particular moment in time…"

He trailed off when he saw the Joker sitting in the living room, snacking on some cookies. "What on earth are you doing here?" Crane demanded.

"Hey, don't get jealous with me, pal – you had your shot with him and you married a woman instead," said Joker, nodding at Tetch.

"Joker is here because his daughter is here," said Tetch, gesturing toward the dining room where Alice and Arleen sat in front of some open books. "Alice helps Arleen with her homework from time to time, having a much better understanding of science and math than she does."

"She gets it from me – I've never been one for logic, what can I say?" asked Joker, shrugging. "And the kid needed a lift over since her car's in the shop. Her brother is out with a girl, and Harley's off doing some shopping, so I got stuck being the chauffeur. And then Tetchy offered me cookies, which he must know is the way straight to my heart!" he chuckled.

"Oooh, science and math homework!" exclaimed Annabel, racing into the dining room. "How exciting!"

Katrina rolled her eyes and followed her sister, sitting down in the corner of the dining room and opening her book. "I thought the girls might want to hang out with Alice," said Crane. "And I was hoping to talk to my friend about a private matter. The last person I want hanging around and eavesdropping on a delicate conversation is you, Joker."

"Aw, well, in that case I'll respect your wishes and hit the road," said Joker, nodding. "Just as soon as I finish my cookie."

He slowly devoured the last bits of his cookie, and then remained sitting where he was, licking the crumbs from his fingers. He reached for another, devouring it at the same pace. "Oh wait, that's right!" he exclaimed, snapping his fingers suddenly. "I won't be doing that, because I don't care about you and what you want, because I ain't a nice guy. You know, you forget your true nature as a massive jerk sometimes, trying to be a good father figure and role model to the kiddies," he sighed. "But it only takes being around a couple losers again to remind you of it."

"We can always go into my bedroom for some privacy, if you like," said Tetch.

"Oh, I'm telling Emilia!" giggled Joker. "Heading over to the old boyfriend's for a little bedroom time is something I'm sure she'll be interested in hearing."

"Yes please, he's terribly annoying," said Crane, ignoring Joker. "And I don't want him to hear about my son."

"Perhaps he can be helpful," suggested Tetch. "I know nothing about sons, but Joker has one of his own."

"Yep, great kid," agreed Joker. "Smart, funny, talented, and handsome, just like his old man. And judging by his date, about as successful as his old man in attracting knockout dames. What's wrong with yours? Gay or something? I hear that can be hereditary."

"Oh, I wish it was something as simple as that," sighed Crane. "I would have absolutely no problem in accepting him if he were gay. And honestly, judging by the woman he's currently interested in, he'd save a lot of heartbreak if he was. But no, it's not that. It's something much worse."

"He's not being bullied, is he?" asked Tetch. "I know that's always been a great concern of yours…"

"No, quite the opposite," said Crane. "He's…he's…he's…a jock!" he choked out. "He's playing in a football game on Saturday, as something called a quarterback…"

"Woah, _your_ kid's a quarterback?" repeated Joker, stunned. "Man, I'd get a DNA test if I were you, because Emilia obviously had a bit on the side who fathered him."

"Joker, shut up," snapped Crane. "His paternity is not in doubt."

"If you say so," said Joker, shrugging.

"He wants me to come to his game on Saturday," continued Crane. "But I can't possibly do that. Just the mere thought of going back to that kind of environment makes me feel physically ill. I don't want to make a scene and embarrass him, but Emilia thinks it's important that I be there for him."

"Well, that's something only you can decide, Jonathan," said Tetch, gently. "How can I help?"

"Don't you have anything that can…I don't know…erase memories or something?" asked Crane. "You have so much advanced technology and machines that can influence the mind…can't you make me forget about those experiences somehow so I can be there for my son?"

Tetch frowned. "I don't make machines that interfere with memories," he said. "That's an incredibly dangerous thing to do. Memories define who we are, especially the bad ones. We must remember how we deal with the pain and suffering of life because that's how we grow as human beings. To erase that would be to change your entire identity."

"He's right," agreed Joker, nodding. "I lost my memory when I changed into the Joker, and I went completely insane. Though it was really only a blessing in the long run. Memories can be vile, repulsive little brutes, like children…though not my children, of course. They're fantastic."

"I'm not asking you to erase my entire past," snapped Crane. "Just to blur some of the details, so I'm not paralyzed with fear at watching a sporting event."

"I've just told you, I'm not comfortable with the ethics of interfering with memories, however slightly," retorted Tetch.

"Uncle Jervis, this textbook says time travel is impossible," said Alice, entering the room at that moment with a book. "You should write to them and tell them that you've invented a time machine and that they're completely mistaken."

"You've invented a machine that interferes with the space-time continuum, but you won't build me one that removes a few memories?" demanded Crane.

"First of all, the time machine was never meant to be used," snapped Tetch. "It was just an experiment to see if I could actually invent one. And it was a successful experiment, thank you very much. But just because I've invented one incredibly dangerous thing doesn't mean I should just go and invent another one – that will merely double the danger. I wouldn't advise erasing memories anymore than I would advise actually going back in time to prevent those memories from occurring in the first place. The result would be just as damaging, and would alter you in unimaginable ways. What if something went wrong, and you forgot how terribly you were bullied? Would the Scarecrow even exist if not for that? Would you have even met your wife? Would you still love her if the experiences you shared no longer tied you together? I won't risk ruining your entire life like that."

"No, you prefer to make me humiliate myself in front of my son," snapped Crane. "Or make him feel like he's not important to me when he is."

"I know he is," said Tetch, nodding. "And I know you'd do anything in the world for him. But you're going to have to face this fear on your own. I know you can – you can master any fear, and you don't need the help of me or my machines to do that. You just need to believe that you can."

"Oh, give me a break," snapped Joker. "Enough with all the feel good, happy clappy hippy crap. I'm with you, Craney – why put yourself through unnecessary suffering when you've got an easy way out? If you want me to hold him down, you can beat him until he consents to your request…"

"I'm not going to hurt my best friend, Joker," said Crane. "It's just a shame he won't help me."

"And it's a shame my best friend would ask me to violate my ethics for him," said Tetch. "I would certainly never ask that of you."

Crane sighed heavily. "You're right," he said. "If you're not comfortable with it, I'll drop it."

"Thank you," said Tetch. "Now let's have some tea and forget the whole messy business."

"Yeah, you boys go have some makeup sex, and I won't tell your wife," said Joker, nodding. "We need to get home anyway, don't we, Leenie?"

"Yeah. Thanks for the help, Alice," said Arleen, entering the room with her notebook under her arm. "I still don't think I'll pass this physics exam though."

"I wish I could help, sweetness," sighed Joker. "But I don't believe in the laws of physics, so I really can't. If you don't believe in them, they don't apply to you, you know, like most laws."

He and Arleen headed out the front door, but about a minute later, Joker reappeared. "Hey, Johnny, can I have a word outside?" he asked.

"All right," said Crane, puzzled, as he followed him out the door. "What…" he began, but Joker suddenly shoved a device into his hands.

"I stole it from Tetchy's garage," he murmured. "It's his little time machine. Just plug it into something electronic and it activates, as the kiddies found out to their cost the other year. If he won't build you another machine, you can just go back and prevent those memories from being made in the first place."

Crane stared at him. "Why…are you doing this?" he asked, slowly.

Joker shrugged. "Hey, I'm a father who'd do anything for his son too. But if there's an easier, less painful way of doing anything for him, I'd take it. Wouldn't you?"

Crane nodded slowly. "Thank you, Joker," he said.

"No problemo!" said Joker cheerfully, heading for his car. He climbed into the driver's seat, chuckling madly.

"What's so funny, Daddy?" asked Arleen.

"Nothing, angelface," said Joker, starting the engine. "It's just so much fun to mess with people. And I just love setting up jokes with potentially terrible consequences. You forget sometimes how enjoyable being a massive jerk is. But it really is, you know," he giggled. "It really is."


	6. Chapter 6

"I really appreciate you dropping me off at pre-game practice, Dad," said Irving, as his father pulled the car up to the football field on the afternoon of Halloween. "I know it can't be easy for you."

"It's a pleasure, Irving," said Crane. "Your mother and sisters are looking forward to seeing you play tonight."

"Yeah, I hope those books I gave them helped them understand the rules of the game," said Irving. "And…I hope your scheme goes well tonight."

"Thank you," said Crane. "Good luck with your…sporting event. I know you'll do wonderfully. You've never done anything else but excel at whatever you've put your mind to, and I'm sure sports is no different."

"Thanks, Dad," said Irving. They sat in silence for a few moments, and then Irving opened the car door.

"Irving, wait," said Crane, catching his arm. "I…just want you to know that…even though I won't be at the game tonight…I'm still tremendously proud of you. I always have been, and I always will be. Whatever decisions you choose to make, and whatever you choose to do in life, I will always be proud of you. You're my son, and I love you. You could never disappoint me, do you understand that? Never."

Irving smiled. "Thanks, Dad," he said.

"And…just because I can't come to this game doesn't mean I won't be at the next," continued Crane. "I just…need time to face this. Sometimes you can't just confront your fears all at once – you need to ease gradually into it."

"I understand, Dad," said Irving, nodding. "Don't worry."

He paused. "Although…if you wanted to maybe start easing into it now…you could come with me to practice. You'd only have to stay for a few minutes, and maybe it would be a good first step for you. It's not a formal environment, and you could meet some of my teammates and see how different they are from the athletes you used to deal with. Wouldn't that help at all?"

"I…I…I suppose," conceded Crane, feeling fear seize up in him at the thought of meeting athletes. But his son was right – there was no time like the present for facing his fears. He nodded firmly. "Lead the way, Irving."

Irving beamed at him, and then climbed out of the car. Crane followed him, anxiety clawing at his stomach, as he headed towards the school. They walked past the currently empty football field and bleachers, and Crane paused to steady himself.

"You ok?" asked Irving, concerned.

"I'm fine," said Crane, trying to choke down his terror. "Absolutely fine."

"Dad, you shouldn't push yourself if this is too hard for you…" began Irving.

"I said I'm fine," snapped Crane. "I know how to deal with fear, Irving. I am the Master of Fear."

Irving nodded slowly, and then opened the door that led directly to the locker room. "You don't have to come in right now – just stay by the door and take a few deeps breaths," said Irving.

"Yes, that's a good idea," said Crane, gripping the door tightly as he tried to breathe the fresh air, and not the stale smell of the locker room, the scent of which brought back remembrances of a thousand torments and beatings and…

"Crane!" shouted a voice, a voice that Crane recognized with a sudden lurch of horror. He looked up to see a man striding toward them. "You're late – get changed right now! I want the team out on the field ASAP! We've got a game to win!"

"Yes, Coach Foster," said Irving. "But first I'd just like you to meet my dad – Dad, this is…"

"Chase Foster!" gasped Crane, his face twisted in shock and horror.

"Yeah. Who the hell are you?" asked Foster, looking him up and down.

"No one, I'm no one," said Crane hastily. "Anyway, I have to go, things to do, must run, good luck tonight, Irving, goodbye."

He dashed off, racing toward his car with his heart pounding in his chest. He climbed inside, slammed and locked the door, and then buried his face in his hands, trying to stop his uncontrollable shaking and trying to control his breathing before he could have a panic attack. "No, no, no," he murmured. "No, I'll never be able to deal with Irving's sporting activities if Chase Foster is going to be there every time. I can't do it. I simply can't."

He started the car engine. "Irving understands," he said to himself. "I'll…I'll explain to him who his coach is later, and he'll see why I can't possibly have anything to do with his athletic activities ever again. Unless…"

He trailed off, the Scarecrow whispering in his ear. "Unless Mr. Foster is forced to face his fears," he murmured. "No, are you mad?" he snapped, instantly snapping out of it. "Irving would never forgive me if I fear gassed his coach! Emilia's right – I must be the adult here, and I must be able to get over what Chase Foster did to me. Though I'm not sure how possible that is since the very sight of him caused me to flee in terror."

He sighed heavily. "Best to just…set up the scheme and forget about it for now," he murmured. But he glanced into the backseat, where among his equipment for the fear gas attack he was planning on Gotham, there sat Tetch's time machine.

Crane knew better than to idly disturb the fabric of the universe, and so he had hesitated to use the machine after Joker stole it for him. But now…now if he could go back in time to when Chase Foster had bullied him and prevent him from doing that, all his current problems would be solved. It was either that or forever disappoint his son. At that moment, the latter seemed like the greater of two evils.

He drove to the warehouse where his henchmen were meeting him to help set up the machine – a dispersal device that would unleash an amplified version of his fear toxin over a twenty mile radius within seconds. He intended to activate the machine in the bell tower of Gotham Cathedral on Halloween night, and give the people of Gotham something to really be afraid of. Or at least, the people of Gotham who were within twenty miles of the cathedral.

But as he watched the henchmen put the parts together, he found himself distracted by constantly glancing at the time machine. "You want this plugged in, boss?" asked one of the henchmen, gesturing to it.

"Um…no, not yet," said Crane. "Tell me, Nigel, do you have children?" he asked.

"Yep," said the henchman, nodding. "One son."

"If your son…was starring in a football match…wouldn't you do anything in the world to be able to be there to support him?" asked Crane. "Even if it was something...fairly dangerous?"

"Sure I would, boss," said the henchman. "Wouldn't be much of a father if I wasn't willing to do anything for my kid. Mine's not that into football, though – more of bookworm."

"How fortunate for you," sighed Crane. "That must save so many dilemmas."

"You ok, boss?" asked the henchman, looking concerned. "You're acting kinda weird, even for you."

"I just have a lot on my mind, Nigel," said Crane.

"Well, you're a smart guy, boss," said the henchman, cheerfully. "You'll get it figured out."

"Thank you for your confidence in me," said Crane. "I suppose…I just need to have confidence in myself, and that will fix the problem. I just need to decide…if I want to risk everything for my son."

He stared at the machine, and then said, "Excuse me for a moment," picking it up and heading into the office of the warehouse. He put the machine down, fiddled some dials to set a date and time, and then picked up the machine in one hand, and the plug in the other. He took a deep breath, and then plugged it into the socket in the wall.

The machine jolted, and a second later, Crane found himself standing in front of his old high school, still holding the time machine in his arms.

"Hello, Jonathan," said a familiar voice.

Crane turned and started back in shock. "Jervis?" he gasped, seeing his friend glaring at him. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"Preventing you from making a colossal mistake and irreparably destroying reality as we know it with my technology that you stole," snapped Tetch.

"First of all, the Joker stole it," retorted Crane. "I'm just using it. But how did you know when in time I'd be? And how did you get here?"

"I have a spare time machine," snapped Tetch, gesturing behind him. "Which I made after the Joker twins' fiasco with my first one, just in case. And I knew you'd be here because you're my friend and I know the way you think. And also because after this encounter, you go back to the future to tell me where you went with my machine, so I go back to the past to make sure I'm there to greet you to prevent you from making a horrible mistake when you use the machine in the future to go back to the past."

Crane stared at him. "What?"

"Never mind," sighed Tetch, waving his hand. "It's all very complicated, fourth-dimensional thinking type stuff. It can be very confusing for those of us who aren't used to thinking like that. All you need to know is that this is a terrible idea, and you need to go back to the future now before you ruin it."

"I can't," snapped Crane. "This is the only way I can face my fears – by making sure they don't exist in the first place."

"I thought you might say that," sighed Tetch, reaching into his pocket for his watch and glancing at it. "Very well, then – off you go."

Crane looked at him skeptically. "You're…not going to try to stop me?" he asked.

"No," replied Tetch. "But I will be waiting here when you return to the future, see what a mess you've made of things, and then come back here to the past to fix it. But nothing I can say about what a terrible idea this is will sway you – you just have to see for yourself, as a man of science."

Crane nodded. "Thank you, Jervis," he said, heading off toward the school.

Tetch sighed again, replacing his pocket watch. "But don't say I didn't warn you," he murmured.


	7. Chapter 7

Crane found it was relatively easy to sneak into his old school's gym – on Halloween, people thought that he was merely a member of staff in a Scarecrow costume. He felt the same anxiety and panic at being in those horrible, familiar surroundings, where he had suffered so much and endured so much torment. But it would all be different this time, he reassured himself, as he entered the gym.

It was bizarre to see himself from outside himself. It was even more bizarre to see himself as a young man again, not that he had changed much physically since then. He was still a skinny, lanky, awkward outsider with glasses, glasses which were, at the moment, being smashed into his face as he was held by a jock underneath a basketball hoop, where Chase Foster had just shot a ball. "He shoots – he scores!" chuckled Foster, as the ball collided hard with teenage Crane's face, making him sob in pain. "But looks like I didn't smash the lenses – guess I'll have to try again!" Foster laughed, as his fellow athlete tossed the ball back at him.

"You're going to let him go at once," snapped adult Crane, striding over to them.

Foster looked at him, and snorted. "Who's gonna make us, pal? You? I think I can probably take you in a fight."

"If you think so, try it," replied adult Crane, folding his arms across his chest.

Foster snorted again, gesturing to his friend to flank him as he approached adult Crane. "You asked for it, old timer," he said, rolling up his sleeves.

"Yes, you most certainly did," agreed adult Crane. He shot out both his hands suddenly, puncturing both of their necks with the needles on the ends of his gloves and injecting them with his fear toxin.

"Ow! What the…" began Foster, but then his eyes began to cloud over in hysterical terror of something only he could see. "No! No! Oh my God, get 'em off me! I can't stand bats!"

"How very interesting – you're going to be living in the wrong town in a few years," said adult Crane calmly. Foster's friend had run screaming from the room, and adult Crane suddenly grabbed Foster around the collar, who was still swatting away imaginary bats.

"Now you listen to me," hissed adult Crane. "You will never bully this young man, or anyone else, ever again. Or the bats will return, Mr. Foster. Every night, as you lie in the darkness in bed, you'll hear their leathery wings flapping against the window, their squeaks to get inside your room and claw your flesh. You'll never be safe from them unless you leave him alone. Do we understand each other?"

Foster nodded desperately, and adult Crane released him. Foster fled from the room, gazing back at adult Crane in terror. Adult Crane went over to his younger self, who was cradling his bleeding nose and broken glasses.

"Are you all right?" asked adult Crane gently.

Teenage Crane nodded. "Thank you," he whispered. "I thought…they'd never stop picking on me."

"Well, they have, my boy," said adult Crane. "And they won't do it again, I promise you. It's over now."

Teenage Crane nodded again, sniffing. "I just don't understand…why they do it," he whispered. "I…I don't want to be different, I just want to fit in, and I haven't done anything to hurt them. Why do they want to hurt me?"

"Because people are naturally horrible, monstrous brutes," replied adult Crane. "They see uniqueness as defectiveness. They see a spark of individuality, and they try to stamp it into conformity. They fear those who are different, so they try to hurt them because they're afraid of them. It's just their nature."

"I…I wish I could conform," whispered teenage Crane. "I don't want to be unique or individual. Not if it comes with this much pain."

"Oh, my boy," murmured adult Crane. "Someday you'll be someone very extraordinary, surrounded by people who love you just the way you are. And it'll be worth all the pain you went through, trust me."

"Why should I?" asked teenage Crane. "I don't even know who you are. I like your costume, though."

"Thank you," said adult Crane. "You clearly have excellent taste. You can call me the Scarecrow. Just think of me as your guardian angel, of sorts. If someone tries to bully you in the future, just tell them the Scarecrow is going to get them. When Mr. Foster and his friend tell the rest of the school what happened with me, I daresay they'll be too scared to lift a finger toward you. Your days of being bullied are at an end."

"What did you do to them?" asked teenage Crane.

"I gave them a taste of their own medicine," replied adult Crane, holding up his glove. "I injected them with a toxin I've invented, that makes people hallucinate their deepest fears."

"What a wonderful idea," said teenage Crane. "Then everyone would know how I feel every day."

"Yes, that's the idea," agreed adult Crane. "But you can learn to overcome those fears, my boy. I promise you, by the time you're my age…you won't be afraid of anything."

"Is that even possible?" asked teenage Crane. "To not be afraid of anything?"

"Well, I hope so," said adult Crane. "Otherwise this will all be for nothing."

"What will all be for nothing?" asked teenage Crane.

"Nothing," said adult Crane hastily. "Just trust me, my boy. You have a very bright future ahead of you. You'll be loved unconditionally by so many people. It may not seem like it now, but…there's nothing to fear but fear itself."

"Paraphrasing Franklin Delano Roosevelt doesn't make you profound, you know," said teenage Crane.

"No, I suppose not," agreed adult Crane. "And now I remember why you got beaten up all the time," he muttered under his breath as he stood up. "Anyway, I must be going. I shall see you in the future," he said, smiling to himself as he headed off.

He returned to the field outside the school, where Tetch still stood, looking at his watch. "Yes, precisely on schedule," he said, nodding. "Now head back to the future and see what a mess you've made of things."

"What mess could I have possibly made of things, besides sparing myself a few horrible years of being bullied?" demanded Crane.

"You'll find out," said Tetch, nodding to his time machine. "I'll see you back here to fix things in a few seconds of my time."

"You're not coming with me?" asked Crane.

"Why, would you like to hear me gloat?" asked Tetch.

"I would like to prove to you that you're wrong," retorted Crane.

"But I'm not wrong," said Tetch. "You come to me to explain what happened in this altered future upon your return to the regular future. That's why I'm here now. But I suppose I can come with you and act as the exposition, patiently explaining things to you when you're baffled by what you've done and the outcomes your meddling has resulted in."

"You know, you're starting to sound like Edward Nygma," snapped Crane.

"I'll ignore that, Jonathan, since you're about to have quite an unpleasant shock," said Tetch. "But don't forget that if you anger me, I invented this technology and can sabotage it at any time, leaving you trapped in this hell of a future for yourself."

"Honestly, Jervis, it can't be that bad," said Crane, fiddling the dials on his time machine to return to the time in which he had left.

"You're about to find out," said Tetch, sighing as he activated his own.


	8. Chapter 8

The time machines deposited them both back in the warehouse that Crane had left from. It was strangely empty of the hustle and bustle of Crane's henchmen, and Crane saw that this was because there were no henchmen.

He opened his mouth to comment, when Tetch supplied the explanation for him. "There are no henchmen because you never became the Scarecrow in this future," he explained. "You did not experience severe enough bullying so that it preoccupied your entire existence with fear-based vengeance for it."

"Well, thank God for that," retorted Crane. "That means I haven't spent most of my life confined in a lunatic asylum by people who can't understand the justice of my crusade."

"No," agreed Tetch. "You have not. You have a nice, normal life as a psychology professor at Gotham University. You are a rational, productive member of society."

"And this is what you call hellish for me, Jervis?" asked Crane. "Perhaps you don't know me as well as you think."

"Oh, I do," sighed Tetch. "I saw the terror in your eyes when you told me about this future. Believe me, it's not as pleasant as it first appears."

"Well, if you know so much, why don't you take me to my current residence?" asked Crane. "And I can observe just how bad my life is."

"I don't know where your current residence is," said Tetch. "But I know someone who will. Come along."

They left the warehouse and headed along the waterfront to a seedy dive bar. "Who on earth could I possibly know in here?" demanded Crane, as Tetch pushed open the door.

"Someone you should avoid at all costs," said Tetch, nodding toward the bar. "Lest he recognizes you as the same Scarecrow who visited him as a boy."

Crane looked and saw himself, looking much older than he did at the present time, despite being the same age. This future version of himself looked, if possible, even scrawnier and skinnier than usual, with a haggard, pale face and sunken eyes. He clutched a glass in his hands as if for dear life, nursing it steadily.

"Am I some kind of…alcoholic?" demanded Crane.

"You certainly wouldn't say so," said Tetch. "And I honestly think alcohol is the secondary consideration for you - you just come here to escape the pressures of your domestic life. Your wife thinks you're working late at the university. Excuse me," he said, shuffling over to alternate future Crane.

Crane took a seat, studying his future self in bewilderment. "Well, at least I'm still married to Emilia," he said at last. "Better than dying alone."

"Yes, you certainly thought so," agreed Tetch, heading over to his table and taking out the wallet he had lifted from alternate future Crane. "That's why you married your wife," he added, opening the wallet and holding out the driver's license to Crane. "There's your address."

"You're just going to leave this version of me stranded at some dingy bar with no wallet and no way of getting home?" demanded Crane.

"Believe me, you'd prefer not to go home," said Tetch. "This will be a welcome break for you. But let's head there and see for yourself."

"Honestly, Jervis, I don't understand what could possibly be so horrible," said Crane, as they headed to an address on a row of respectable-looking houses.

"You'll see – I'll wait outside," said Tetch. "Oh, and I'd remove the Scarecrow mask at least if I were you. It would only cause unnecessary comment and explanation."

"Yes, good idea," said Crane, handing him the mask. He then knocked on the door.

It was answered by a woman Crane had never seen before in his life, but who glared at him coldly. "Why couldn't you use your keys to let yourself in instead of bothering me?" she demanded.

"Um…I…seem to have misplaced them," said Crane.

"Well, that's typical of you, causing an inconvenience," sighed the woman, holding open the door. "Anyway, it's about time you were home. Why are you dressed in that ridiculous outfit?"

"Um…it's Halloween," invented Crane. "And there was a party…at the university…"

"You stayed late to attend some party?" interrupted the woman, growing even more irritated. "Leaving me home alone to do all the cooking and taking care of the house while you make a fool of yourself at some social occasion? Grown people dressing up in costumes - I've never heard of anything more pathetic."

"I'm…sorry," said Crane, slowly. "Of course I'll pay you overtime for your trouble…"

"Pay me?" interrupted the woman, furiously. "Why on earth would you pay me?!"

"Um…aren't you…the housekeeper?" asked Crane.

"Housekeeper?" repeated the woman, her anger growing. "I'm your goddamn wife, unfortunately! What the hell is the matter with you?! You can't have drunk that much that you've forgotten me, although you've drunk plenty, by the smell of it!"

"Wife?" repeated Crane, staring at her. He knew he shouldn't be so superficial as to judge from appearances, but his wife was an objectively hideous-looking woman. It wasn't so much her natural appearance, but the furious, hateful expression that glared out from her eyes, and the wrinkles of a frown around her mouth that indicated that she rarely, if ever, smiled. Her face seemed twisted and deformed by rage. He couldn't imagine why he ever would have married someone like that, unless he were truly desperate that he'd just settle for anyone. Which he began to suspect was the case.

"Where's…Emilia?" he asked, half-addressing the question to Tetch who lingered on the street.

"Who the hell is Emilia?!" demanded the woman. "Some pretty young colleague of yours at the university?! Or are you stooping so low as to look at students now?! Not that I expected anything less from you, Jonathan Crane! You're a pathetic excuse for a man as well as a pathetic excuse for a husband! Now get in here! Dinner's ready and getting cold!"

She dragged him inside and slammed the door. Crane was too startled to resist as his current wife continued to pull him down the hall and into the dining room. It was empty save for a small, shy, scared-looking boy with a black eye.

"Where are the girls?" asked Crane, looking around.

"What girls?" demanded his wife.

"Katrina and Annabel, my daughters," said Crane.

The woman stared at him. "Have you gone mad?! You don't have any daughters, at least not by me! Your little tart Emilia might know differently, but you only have one legitimate child! You think I want more of your brats to take care of?! Irving is enough of a pain, with his constant need for reassurance and his constant whining about bullies. Irving, your worthless excuse for a father is home!" she snapped at him.

"Good evening, Father," said the boy, timidly.

"Don't wish him a good evening – he doesn't deserve a good evening after abandoning me to attend some stupid Halloween party!" snapped the woman. "I've told you both a thousand times - other people are all horrible! And nobody would ever want to be friends with either of you! You're both weak and worthless, and you're lucky I put up with you! Not that I suspect your father was out there looking for friends, but no other woman would ever have him, the useless, ugly waste of space!"

"Excuse me, I certainly wouldn't point fingers on the unattractive front," snapped Crane.

The woman glared murderously at him. "What did you say?" she hissed.

"I said I wouldn't…" began Crane, but he was suddenly struck across the face with one of the frying pans on the table.

"How dare you talk back to me?!" shrieked the woman. "You ungrateful, spineless little man! I do everything for you, I put up with all your pathetic whining and babbling, and what do you do for me in return?! Insult me and abandon me! You miserable excuse for a man! How dare you say one word against me?!"

She struck him with the frying pan again. "Mother, please stop!" begged Irving, standing up.

"Do you want to be beaten too?" demanded the woman.

Irving shook his head. "Then shut up, or you'll be next!" she snapped, raising the frying pan again.

Crane saw nothing for it, much as he hated to hit a woman. He caught her arm as she brought down the frying pan, and then punched her hard across the face. The blow sent her staggering back into the table. Crane seized the frying pan from her and slammed it hard across the back of her head, knocking her unconscious.

"Father…what have you done?" gasped Irving, staring at him in shock.

"Acted in self-defense," said Crane, dropping the frying pan. "Is she always like this?"

"Of course she is," said Irving, looking at him strangely. "And usually you just put up with the beatings and the name-calling."

"Well, I'm a new man, my boy," said Crane, heading for the door and opening it. "Jervis, come in and explain all this."

"Gladly," said Tetch, entering the house. "How do you do, Irving?" he asked, removing his hat and nodding at the boy. "Did you get that black eye from your mother or the school bullies?"

"Mother," murmured Irving, rubbing his eye tenderly. "But how did you know about the bullies…"

"Your father told me," interrupted Tetch. "You have a lot of trouble with bullies, don't you, Irving?"

"Yes," murmured Irving. "I don't know what I've done wrong, but…the other children don't like me. Maybe Mother is right – maybe I don't deserve friends. And maybe other people are all basically horrible."

"For the most part, I'd agree with you," said Crane, nodding. "But not all. There are always a few rare exceptions," he said, smiling at Tetch. "But then I suppose the only reason I don't think other people are all basically horrible is because of Emilia."

"Well, you're not married to Emilia in this future," said Tetch. "You've never met Emilia, in fact, not properly. You see her sometimes in the university library, but you've never acknowledged her existence before, nor she yours. She is, in this future, unmarried and desperately lonely."

"Obviously preferable to my situation, however unpleasant," said Crane, glancing at his wife. "Why on earth would I ever marry such a woman?"

"Because she was the only woman who'd have you," said Tetch. "You were desperate, alone, and getting on in years. So you settled. You settled for a mentally and physically abusive relationship with a woman who treats you and your son with absolutely no respect – in other words, a bully."

Crane was silent. "I…never stood up to the bullies myself in this future," he murmured. "The Scarecrow stepped in and scared them off…I never learned how to stand up for myself."

"That's right," said Tetch, nodding. "Which is why I told you it would be a terrible idea. Yes, your bullying was a horrible experience. But it was necessary in making you into the man you are today. You had to reach your breaking point and hit back at the bullies yourself, as you did in our normal future. Otherwise you just allow yourself to be bullied for the rest of your life."

Crane looked down at his wife. "She reminds me of…my mother," he said slowly.

"Well, I wouldn't presume to say you had Oedipal tendencies…" began Tetch.

"No, it's not that," said Crane. "It's just…I never knew any different, and never expected anything different in a relationship with a woman. I never thought…any woman could ever really love me. Until I met Emilia. And I think she loved me initially because…she understood what I'd been though. Because she'd been through it herself. If I don't go through that bullying, she'll never love me. And I'd go through it all again for her love, without question. For her and…for my children."

He knelt down in front of Irving, tenderly examining his black eye. "I'm so sorry for what I allowed to happen to you…for not stopping your bullying sooner," he said. "The last person in the world to hurt a child should be his parents. They should love him unconditionally, whatever happens, and should be willing to go through any pain for his sake. They should be willing to confront any fear. And I will, Irving," he said, hugging the boy. "I promise you, I will."

He stood up. "And now, I must be going. I have something to attend to in another time. Excuse me."


	9. Chapter 9

Both Crane and Tetch arrived back at the point in the past where Crane had interfered with his bullying. "How can I fix the future to the one I know?" asked Crane. "If I understand the theory of time travel correctly, won't there will be another version of me appearing here to fix the future again who won't listen to you when you say it's dangerous?"

"That's only if you believe time to be a linear concept," said Tetch, nodding. "Which it is not. That which we call time travel is merely the exploration of alternate dimensions. We have now returned to the dimension in the past which, when traveling into the future, will be the future you recognize."

Crane stared at him. "I don't understand."

"It's very simple," said Tetch. "The future is already written, and always has been. For every decision you or anyone else makes, a new dimension is created. All these dimensions exist simultaneously. Time travel is merely taking you to a dimension where different decisions were made, and the apparent past, present, and future is altered from the one you're familiar with. The dimension in which we are now is the one in which you made the decision not to go back to the past. So you won't be appearing, and you can head back to the future you know immediately."

Crane continued to stare at him. "I still don't understand."

Tetch sighed heavily, picking up some pebbles and laying them down on the ground. "These pebbles are dimensions of time, and there are an infinite number of them," he said, gesturing to them. "This pebble is the dimension in which you chose to go back and interfere with the past, and this pebble is one resultant future from that decision, which is the one we just visited. The dimension we are in now is an entirely different pebble, and the future dimension you are going to is another pebble still, created by the decision you made not to go into the past and change it. In other words, the dimension you are already familiar with."

"But won't there be two of me in that dimension?" asked Crane.

"No," said Tetch. "Because one of your decisions is the decision to go back and change the past, and then _not_ to go back and fix the future to the one you know. That dimension is the one we're in now, where you remain trapped in time. Your current self will return to a future with only one version of you."

"That's very confusing, Jervis," said Crane.

"Well, nobody said the secrets of the universe were easy to explain – otherwise everyone would be time traveling," said Tetch, shrugging. "That's honestly as simple as I can make the explanation. I'm sorry if you don't understand it, but if you can't, just accept it. It might be because of your nationality. I'm British, and as a nation, we're very familiar with the concepts and possibilities of time travel. You're just lucky I didn't make the time machines in the shape of blue telephone boxes."

"What?" asked Crane.

"Never mind," sighed Tetch. "British time traveler joke. Just go back to the future now. And set the machine so you have time to make it to your son's football game, for goodness sake."

"Of course I will," said Crane, setting the dials. "And…thank you, Jervis. You're a good friend to travel with me through space and time."

"Yes, and you're better than any of those other companions a certain time traveling doctor has," said Tetch, nodding.

"Who?" asked Crane, puzzled.

"Yes, Who," agreed Tetch. "That's the one."

"Who?" asked Crane, becoming even more confused.

"Dr. Who," said Tetch, nodding.

"Who is this doctor?" asked Crane.

"Yes, he is indeed," agreed Tetch. "I can't believe you've never heard of him before."

"Who?" asked Crane.

"Yes," agreed Tetch, nodding again.

"Fine, if you insist on speaking nonsense, I'm leaving," said Crane. "You keep the name of the time traveling doctor a secret, if it suits you."

Tetch sighed again as Crane activated the time machine and disappeared. "For a fairly intelligent man, he can be very dense sometimes."

…

"Hi boss, you want us to set up the…" began one of the henchmen, as Crane emerged from the office in the warehouse.

"No, cancel the scheme," interrupted Crane, racing toward the door. "You may all have the night off. Go home, and have a very Happy Halloween."

"Boss?" asked one of the henchmen, beyond confused. "Are you ok?"

"I'm fine – just in a bit of a hurry," said Crane. "The game starts at seven, and I want to be there for the whistle."

The henchmen watched in astonishment as he ran into his car and sped off into the streets of Gotham. "He's not ok," said one henchman to the other. "I've never seen him like this before."

"Game? Whistle? Is he talking about…sports?" asked the other.

"Either that or he's finally just snapped," said the first one.

"Well, that's obviously what's happened if he's talking about sports," said another. "The boss would rather die than have anything to do with that stuff."

"Shame," said Nigel, shaking his head. "Oh, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown."

They all stared at him. "Hey, my kid and I read _Hamlet_ , all right?" he snapped. "It's got some good lines. You wanna make something of it?"

"No," another said hastily. "Though I'm starting to wonder if maybe the boss didn't cancel the scheme – just made a new type of gas where everybody acts the opposite of the way they usually are."

"Hey, you should suggest that to him, Tony," said another.

"I will," replied Tony, nodding. "Assuming he ever goes back to being normal. Or at least, as normal as he ever was."

…

"As quarterback, Irving will be responsible for part of the exchange known as 'the snap,' which is when the center passes the ball behind him to the quarterback at the start of play," said Annabel to her mother and sister, as they sat in the front row of the bleachers next to the football field. "It's also known as a 'hike' or 'snapback'…"

"Yes, Annabel, we all read the book," interrupted Katrina, who had brought a book with her and had her eyes glued to it.

"Katrina, my love, please put the book away when the game starts," said Emilia.

"Yes, yes," said Katrina, still not looking up. "I'm just trying to finish this chapter."

"Hello, nerd family!" chuckled a familiar voice, and Emilia looked up to see the Joker, Harley Quinn, Arleen, and J.J. taking a seat next to them on the bleachers.

"Joker, Harley, how nice to see you," she said. "Are you here to support Irving at his first game?"

"Yeah, we thought the kid would like to see some friendly, smiling faces in the crowd," said Harley.

"Oh, I wish that was my reason – then I'd be a better father to him than his own father!" chuckled Joker. "But I'm here to support J.J.'s girlfriend, Cindy," he said, nodding at the group of cheerleaders at the end of the field. "She's the hottest one."

"I'm not sure your opinion of her as 'the hottest one' is necessarily a measure of her objective attractiveness," commented Katrina.

"And I'm not sure you should be able to bring a book to a football game without being considered as lame as your old man," said Joker. "Who couldn't even be bothered to show."

"Jonathan has some…issues with athletics," said Emilia. "I also wish he could have come to terms with them for his son, but you can't force people to do things they don't want to do."

"That's small-minded thinking, Em," said Joker, shaking his head. "I woulda said come to the game or I'll beat the living crap outta ya. I think that would have worked."

"Well, Jonathan and I don't have a relationship built on violence or threats of violence," said Emilia.

Joker and Harley shared a look. "Hey, their loss," said Joker, shrugging.

J.J. tapped his father on the shoulder. "Dad, Cindy's about to shake those pom poms."

"You're a lucky man, son," said Joker, nodding approvingly. "Though…not as lucky as me, obviously," he added, noticing the look Harley was giving him.

Crane raced up to his family at that moment, gasping for breath from his running. "It hasn't started yet, has it?" he gasped. "I'm not too late?"

"No, you're not…Jonathan, what are you doing here?" asked Emilia, staring at him in astonishment. "I thought you weren't…"

He silenced her with a passionate kiss. "You're a sight for sore eyes, my dear," he murmured. "And I love you. Annabel, I love you," he said, hugging his middle daughter tightly. "Katrina, I love you," he said, hugging his eldest daughter. She grunted in annoyance, trying to read her book through his embrace.

"Well, you manned up after all, Craney," said Joker, nodding. "Gotta admit, I wasn't sure you had it in you."

"I suppose I have you to thank, Joker," said Crane. "And Jervis, of course."

"Jervis what?" asked Tetch, appearing suddenly with Alice in tow.

"What are you doing here?" asked Crane, astonished.

"I'm here to support your son, of course," said Tetch, sitting down on the bleachers.

"We all are," said Harley, smiling at Crane. "And you too, Johnny. You let us know if you're feeling uncomfortable…"

"Thank you, my dear, but…I had my uncomfortable experience for today, and I can bear anything after that," said Crane, taking a seat as the players came out onto the field. Irving glanced over at the bleachers and did a double take at seeing his father. He gazed at him in astonishment, and then beamed broadly. That smile meant more to Crane than words could express.

And honestly, he found himself getting quite into the game, after Annabel explained to him what was going on, of course. "It's rather exciting, in a savage sort of way," Annabel voiced.

"Yes, indeed," agreed Crane.

"If one more person tackles my baby boy, I'm going onto the field myself to hurt them," growled Emilia.

"But Mom, that's how the game is played," said Annabel. "He's wearing padding, after all. Although early football players didn't use protective equipment and a great many died. The record for football player deaths was set in the year 1931 with 40…"

"Annabel, perhaps that's not the most helpful way to reassure your mother," interrupted Crane, gently. "Katrina, please put the book away."

Katrina had been snatching glances at the open book she had hidden on the ground, but finally shut it, sighing. But by the end of the game even she had gotten a little into it, cheering her brother heartily when he made the winning touchdown.

The game ended, and Irving headed over to his family with a huge smile on his face. He was intercepted before he could get to them by Cindy. "Hey, Irving, I just wanna say I was really impressed with the way you played tonight," she said, smiling at him. "Give me a call sometime," she said, handing him her number and kissing his cheek.

"Oh…thank you," stammered Irving, blushing.

"Cindy, what the hell?" demanded J.J., who had wandered over to greet her and seen the whole thing. "I thought you were my girl!"

"Not anymore, J.J.," said Cindy. "I'm going out with Irving now. He's less of a jerk than you."

"I'm not a jerk!" snapped J.J.

"Yeah, you are," retorted Cindy, nodding. "You spent our whole date talking about your criminal business venture, and didn't once ask about me. You just expect me to be as in love with you as you are with yourself, and that's a real turn-off. Narcissism isn't attractive, y'know."

"But baby, I can change!" exclaimed J.J.

"No, you can't, son," sighed Joker, coming over to him and clapping him on the shoulder. "Being a jerk's kinda in your genes. If she can't love you for that, she ain't worth your time. You'll find a girl who will eventually, though, just like I did."

"Would you all please…excuse me for a moment," said Irving, heading toward his family.

"Don't forget to call me!" called Cindy after him.

"Well, congratulations, Irving," said Crane, embracing his son. "You're a victorious athlete, and you've got a cheerleader interested in you."

"Yeah, Cindy's…nice," stammered Irving, blushing. "To be honest, the whole thing just feels a bit surreal at the moment. I just…can't believe you're here, Dad. It means so much to me. I thought…after running away from Coach Foster earlier…"

"Yes, that was…not my finest hour," said Crane. "But I've faced scarier people than him tonight, and lived to tell the tale."

"Crane!" snapped Coach Foster, storming over to him at that moment. "Get in the locker room – we got a game review to do!"

"Yes, Coach Foster," said Irving, nodding. "But first, I'd like you to meet my family. This is my father, Professor Jonathan Crane."

Foster stared at Crane. "Johnny Crane?" he repeated. "Skinny, nerdy little Johnny Crane? This…is your kid?" he asked, gesturing to Irving in astonishment.

Crane nodded, and Foster burst out laughing. "No way!" he chuckled. "I'm sorry, that's just not possible! This boy is the best young athlete I've ever seen! There's no way he could have come from you! Whatever woman you found who was desperate enough to marry you was obviously involved with someone else when she produced him!"

"Coach, that's a horrible thing to say about both my parents," said Irving, angrily. "And my mother's right here."

"Don't talk back to me, Crane – just get in the locker room!" snapped Foster.

"I'm not doing anything until you apologize to my dad and my mom," said Irving, firmly.

"All right, I'm sorry," snapped Foster. "I'm just messing with you, Crane – just locker room banter, you know how it is. Good to see you again - let's do lunch sometime, huh?"

"You think I would ever have lunch with you after what you did to me?" demanded Crane.

"What are you whining about?" demanded Foster. "So I pushed you around a little in high school – it was a long time ago, Crane. Get over it."

"Get over it?" repeated Crane, his fury building rapidly. "Do you even remember the things you used to do to me?"

"Christ, it was kinda a joke about your wife, but now I'm being serious," sneered Foster. "There's no way you're man enough to father this kid. Who's his real father, sweetheart?" he asked, turning to Emilia. "He must be quite a man."

"My husband is quite a man," said Emilia, softly. "And you will apologize to him, or you will be sorry."

"Like hell," spat Foster.

Irving said nothing, but turned to his father. "I'm going to the locker room now, but I think Coach Foster should stay and chat with you a little while. Perhaps you can remind him of some of the ways in which he 'pushed you around.' Or better yet, you can show him," he said, nodding at the needles on his father's glove.

"But Irving…he might be…permanently damaged by the recollection," said Crane, slowly.

"He's not much of a coach," said Irving, shrugging. "Our assistant coach is much better. You'd really be doing the team a favor. And I'm sure Coach Foster would enjoy a good scare on Halloween. Why don't you see that he has a memorable one?" he asked, heading toward the locker room.

Crane smiled at Foster. "You see, he _is_ my son," he sighed, injecting the needles of fear toxin into his throat suddenly. "Boy after my own heart."

 **The End**


End file.
